


adding scars to my heart

by tumbleoutyourhair



Series: flying and burning [3]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Blood, Poor bean, Reunions, back from the dead, tucker's had a rough time of it lately
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-20 01:58:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9470378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tumbleoutyourhair/pseuds/tumbleoutyourhair
Summary: he's dead. he's dead, he's dead, wash is dead, so it doesn't matter how much this thing looks like him. how much tucker wants to reach out and touch and see if his skin is warm and if he can feel his pulse under his skin. it doesn't matter.because wash is dead.





	

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: alright so i've either lost the original prompt post or i've been doing several of these wrong because i can't find the prompt for this one either lmao wHY AM I SO BAD AT THIS
> 
> rated for two(?) f-bombs

the door closes behind him and tucker keeps staring.

whatever it is, it almost looks like wash. it has the same, doleful grey eyes, same stupid freckles. but his wash never looked so defeated. no matter the situation and how stressed or scared he might have been, wash carried himself like a soldier. he had a strong spine, and capable, broad shoulders meant for protecting his team from whatever he could.

this thing curls in on itself as if trying to protect itself from the entire world. it’s hands are curled loosely and it stands angled away from tucker like it knows it’s about to be attacked.

tucker wonders where it came from–if it’s even a real person. maybe some type of android?–and what it’s supposed to do. whoever sent it has to be an idiot to think that they would fall for this. 

“tucker?”

the transmission was publicly broadcasted. a transmission that has permanently etched itself into tucker’s brain. so really it doesn’t matter how similar this thing is–how soft the hair looks, how the hands have the same scars–tucker knows it isn’t his wash.

“tucker say something.”

because his wash is dead.

“please.”

“i saw him die you know,” he rasps out, surprising himself and the imposter too if it’s minute flinch is any indicator. “pretty sure the whole planet did.”

the stranger looks impossibly sad and tucker wonders how long it’s been watching to get wash’s facial expressions near-perfect. “i’m sorry.”

“are you?” tucker asks. “because the only possible scenario i can think of as to what the fuck you’re doing here is to kill me.”

his probably-assassin stares at him with incredulous eyes. “if that was the case why would carolina leave you alone with me?”

tucker shrugs. “maybe she’s letting me have the satisfaction of killing you myself.”

the imposter takes a step forward, stopping when tucker bares his teeth. “i’m not here to kill you. and i’m not a fake; it’s me, tucker.”

“stop saying my name like that,” he snaps, fingers itching for the gun carolina took off him before leading him inside this room.

“like what?” the faux-wash asks quietly.

tucker barks out a laugh. “like you know me. like you have any right to say my name at all.”

faux-wash stares down at the floor for a moment before straightening his shoulders and the look on it’s face makes tucker’s heart ache.

tucker knows that look.

“you have a son named junior,” the stranger says, beginning to take slow steps across the room, hands raised in placation. “he was born in blood gulch.”

“everyone knows that,” tucker half-snarls, “stay where you are.”

faux-wash ignores him, still slowly edging towards him, eyes never leaving tucker’s. “you and grif are the ones that changed the voice modulator in sarge’s armour. whenever it was your turn to cook breakfast you always insisted on making penis-shaped pancakes.”

tucker’s back hits the wall and his hands are shaking. “who the fuck told you that?”

“no one told me that, tucker–no one _had_  to.”

he’s closer now, almost within reach. tucker takes in the perfect imperfections; the scar above his lip, the grey at his temples, can catch the faintest hint of scent that he’s always associated with wash.

“it was just supposed to be reconnaissance,” he says and tucker’s blood freezes. “we thought the warehouse was empty–that it was just used for storage.” his lips quirk in a wry smirk that is wrenching in its familiarness. “i don’t know who was more surprised, them or us.”

“shut up,” tucker breathes.

“i could hear you screaming at me over the comms. knew that we were both thinking of chorus. knew that you knew what i was thinking and hating me for it.”

“shut up,” tucker repeats, stronger, voice shaking.

“the transmission was two-way,” he says quietly, regretfully. “i could see you and the others watching me and wished that there was some way i could tell you that this wasn’t your fault–that i was sorry.”

tucker feels like he’s shaking apart at the seams, breath rattling in his lungs. the stranger’s within arms reach and he makes a movement like he wants to reach out and _touch_ –

“i thought i was going die, tucker,” it murmurs. “i didn’t think i was going to get to come home–to come back to you. and all i could think of was that before i left i think you almost kissed me. and i think i would’ve let you.”

tucker doesn’t think. almost of it’s own accord his arm swings up and he punches the blonde square in the face.

wash– _wash wash wash wash_ ** _his wash_** –reels back with a yell, blood spurting over his lip. tucker follows him, reaching up to cup a hand around the back of his neck and pull. wash– _wash wash wash_ –goes easily and makes the softest of noises when tucker locks their lips together.

their first kiss tastes like blood and tears and honestly tucker doesn’t know who’s crying but he’s definitely making pathetic noises in the back of his throat. wash– _his wash_ –clings to him desperately and he’s quivering like a leaf. tucker only pulls away because he knows it’s probably impossible to breath through a bloody nose, but he doesn’t go far. he seals his mouth over wash’s– _his wash’s_ –neck, kissing and nipping the tendons he finds. he’s smearing blood all over that pale skin but the feeling of that erratic pulse beneath his tongue is a heady aphrodisiac.

wash– _wash_ –digs bruises into tucker’s hips but he can’t be fucked to care. he’s murmuring into tucker’s hair; a constant stream of  _i’m sorry’_ s, _i’m here’_ s, _i’m alive’_ s.

tucker tears away from the skin he’s thoroughly marked with bruises and blood and licks his way into his wash’s mouth. he finds himself pushed back up against the wall, his wash a solid presence of heat and breath along his front. eventually the kiss gentles, even as tucker whines for it. wash– _his wash is alive_ –eases their lips apart, but stays close, pressing his forehead against tucker’s temple.

“i missed you,” he breathes into the space between them.

“i thought you were dead.” tucker exhales and it sounds like a sob. “i thought i was never going to see you again.”

a strong hand wraps around his wrist and tucker finds his hand pressed against a firm chest. it takes him a moment, but then he registers the rhythmic beating beneath his palm. he lets his eyes slip closed, focused on his wash’s heartbeat.

“i’m okay,” he says, brushing his lips over tucker’s eyelids, “we’re okay.”

slowly, tucker smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> come cry about gay nerds in space with me on [tumblr](http://agentwashingtrash.tumblr.com/)


End file.
